


phantom limb

by neopuff



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen, platonic or romantic doesnt matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27612389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neopuff/pseuds/neopuff
Summary: Bradford overhears Agents 22 and McDuck discussing the defeat and death of their enemy: Black Heron.
Relationships: Black Heron (Disney) & Bradford Buzzard, Black Heron (Disney)/Bradford Buzzard
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to get this concept out there while my brain is still running on Bradford and Heron. They're just fun.

While F.O.W.L. was still in it’s early stages, Bradford didn’t object to Black Heron continuing her usual nonsense and wasting the time and resources of S.H.U.S.H. while he focused on his plans.

When he’d caught whispers of her most recent scheme - one involving a mystical book at an auction - Bradford just shrugged and carried on with his usual work. She often sought out odd, rare artifacts to help with her mad science experiments and attempts at advanced robotics engineering. Perhaps whatever she discovered would be useful to their organization, so he saw no reason to object.

A few days later, when Agents Twenty-Two and McDuck returned from said mission, he overheard a disturbing conversation that made his skin crawl.

 _“And you’re sure she’s dead?”_ Von Drake asked.

 _“Positive. There’s no way anyone could survive an explosion of that magnitude,”_ Twenty-Two responded in kind.

Bradford glared at the floor and considered his options. He knew it would rouse suspicion to leave, but he had to check and see if she was really dead. The Heron he’d grown to know over the past year could survive almost anything, but...she wasn’t immortal.

He clocked out of work at his normal time and immediately made his way to the site they were currently using as F.O.W.L. headquarters. Currently they were just working out of a small building on the industrial end of the city, with few employees and even fewer members to help out. But fortunately for him, one of their newest members had a speedboat and a loyal helmsman who’d take him to Heron’s island lair she’d been working out of.

No one questioned his motivation for going. Despite it happening only half a day earlier, they’d all heard about the explosion through their regular evil channels and had all assumed Heron was long dead. That being said, Bradford and Heron had an odd relationship filled with a lot of mutual respect. It wasn’t unusual for him to go a few extra steps to help her.

As soon as the island was in sight, the smell of smoke and ash filled his nostrils. Bradford coughed as they got closer, glaring at the sight of Heron’s ruined laboratory. She’d always bragged about how perfect her lab was - perfect traps, perfect size, perfect location. And now it was destroyed. Perhaps it was her own fault for not taking his suggestion of hiding in plain sight rather than displaying her evil for the world to see.

The speedboat driver stayed behind as Bradford made his way towards the smokey building, happy that the fire had died down enough for him to get inside. He pulled a mask out of his pocket and strapped it over his beak, wondering if it was a waste of time to bring a spare.

He didn’t bother looking throughout the lair - if there was an explosion, it meant Heron was probably in her lab. He’d only been once before and the giant pile of chemicals made him nervous. It seemed as though he was right to feel that way.

A few steps into the lab and the stench of blood and burning feathers overpowered the smells he’d been taking in previously. His stomach clenched as he stepped further in, carefully avoiding shards of shattered glass and broken furniture lining the floor. He scanned the room to see where she was - or where her body was, at least - and finally landed on a figure laying in a pool of blood.

“ _Heron!_ ”

Bradford hurried over to her and hesitated before placing a hand on her side to roll her towards him. Immediately he could see that her right arm had been entirely blown off and she was clutching her stump of a shoulder blade with her left hand.

She groaned and gripped harder at her wound while he looked her up and down to see if there were any other significant injuries. Fortunately for her, she was wearing the dress with the inflammable upgrades he suggested, so most of her body was relatively unscathed. Exploding debris had scratched up her face and legs significantly and her hair was singed badly on her right side.

He sighed and moved his hand to her face, lightly tapping her cheek. “Heron. Can you speak?”

One of her eyes opened slowly and she let out a shudder of a breath. “...barely,” she said. Her voice sounded scratchy and painful and Bradford almost felt bad for asking her to talk.

“I’m getting you out of here, alright?”

“Peh,” Heron let out a sharp chuckle that she immediately regretted thanks to the pain shooting through her entire body. “...not very... _villainous_ of you.”

He rolled his eyes and reached down to wrap his arms under her legs and back, ignoring the blood that soaked into his sleeves as he gathered her. Though he wasn’t muscular by any means, Heron was lithe and adrenaline was pumping through his veins.

She groaned and her breathing got even shakier as she leaned into his chest.

Bradford stared down at her and sighed as he quickly made his way out of the building. Seeing her like this - so weak and quiet and small - made him briefly wish she was yelling at him about being more evil and dramatic with her usual obnoxious flair.

The driver jumped out of the boat to help as soon as Bradford and Heron came into view. Clearly experienced with this sort of thing, he tucked her into a comfortable spot on board and grabbed the little medical supplies they had with them. After a quick switch from her makeshift tourniquet to a real bandage, he grabbed the wheel and started driving back towards London.

“Where should we take her?”

Bradford grimaced as he stared down at Heron, who was starting to shiver. “We can’t take her to a hospital. She’ll be arrested immediately.”

“Then where do you suggest?”

His mind was racing through possibilities of what to do. Unfortunately, F.O.W.L.’s headquarters didn’t have any kind of medical ward or even beds. Perhaps this was a sign that they needed to invest more money into that sort of thing.

“I’ll take her to my apartment. Just get us back to land.”

* * *

The first night was the most difficult.

He’d given her his bed - it was a one bedroom apartment so there weren't many other options, but in the end he couldn’t will himself to sleep knowing she could take a turn for the worse at any moment. It’d been hours since they returned and she hadn’t said a word - her only noises were groans of agony.

Cleaning her up had been the worst part so far. Getting the dress off was bad enough, but trying to clean off the chunks of coagulated blood stuck to her feathers without sending her into shocks of searing pain was near-impossible.

His bathroom was bloody and dirty and disgusting, but at least she was clean and alive. He couldn’t run F.O.W.L. by himself, after all. Even though she was crazy and reckless, she was necessary in his plans to control the world and keep things in order. He’d gotten used to their balancing act that kept him on his toes.

Bradford sighed and stared down at Heron, who seemed to have finally fallen asleep. He only had over-the-counter painkillers in his cabinets, but they seemed to be doing the trick for the moment.

He slumped into the chair he’d placed next to his bed and took another deep breath. He had to take off work for the next few days to make sure she didn’t suddenly die. It’d be suspicious...he would have to come up with a reasonable excuse. Sick relative? Sudden death in the family?

He grumbled as his thoughts drifted to all the medical supplies he should be buying. Losing an arm was not something he was capable of helping her with. His underworld connections were still limited, he didn’t know anyone who could look over her wounds without potentially turning her in. He’d have to go back to F.O.W.L. and see if anyone there had contacts.

After a few more minutes of sitting and watching her sweat and struggle through what little sleep she was able to get, Bradford decided he’d be better off cleaning the bathroom than sitting here doing nothing. He got up and tugged off his jacket, tossing it towards his washing machine. With the amount of blood soaked into the fabric he probably wouldn’t be able to save it, but he’d try anyway.

* * *

She woke up in the middle of the night, medication still lessening her physical pain but she had yet to fully accept her lost limb. Heron could still _feel_ her arm, she could still flex the muscle that would clench her fingers into a fist. Studying phantom limb syndrome was very different from actually experiencing it. Perhaps she could take this as an opportunity for some scientific innovation.

Heron rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. She knew she was in Bradford’s apartment, most likely in his bed. She was grateful he didn’t try to take her to a hospital, but more than a little concerned about his lack of medical expertise. She glanced to the right and finally noticed him sleeping quietly in a chair placed next to the bed.

She blinked a few times, surprised to see him. Surely he had a couch to sleep on that’d be more comfortable than _that._ Unless he was just so worried about her condition that he wanted to stay close in case something happened. How touching.

After a moment of watching him, she painfully scooted herself into a partially upright position and reached over to grab the notebook he kept on his nightstand. She wasn’t used to writing with her left hand, but she’d have to make do. Fortunately for the both of them, Heron knew where to find a special healing plant that should speed up her recovery time significantly. As much as she enjoyed being doted on by her grumpy business partner, there was evil to be done and she didn’t have time to wait around.

With the note finished, she reached over and grabbed a handful of pills, popping them in her mouth and then grabbing the glass of water to swallow them down. If he couldn’t get her that plant, he’d be spending a _lot_ of money on acetaminophen.

* * *

Several days later, after Bradford had collected the plant and put together the potion that brought back Heron’s strength, she was back to her obnoxious, invigorated old self and taking down detailed notes in one of Bradford’s notebooks that she’d taken for herself.

He stepped into the room and stopped himself from smiling at the familiar sight. “How are you feeling?”

“Good, _good!_ ” Heron said with a crazed smirk. “I’m working on the design for my _new arm!_ It’ll be tough to build with only one hand, but if we get some of our new Eggheads to help me out, I’ll be onto the adjustment stage in _no time!_ ”

Bradford shook his head and walked over to take a seat in his usual chair. “Any chance you’re almost ready to leave?”

She paused in her writing and looked up at him, the smirk never leaving her face. “But I’ve gotten so _comfortable_ here, I was thinking of just moving in!”

He frowned and scoffed, reaching over to grab the notebook out of her hand. “How about this: I get you all the materials you need for your arm, and you move into F.O.W.L. headquarters instead.”

“You want me to live in an old factory? How cruel.”

“We’ve made some changes in the past week,” he said as he flipped through the pages. “I’m sure you’ll find the new setting more than accommodating.”


	2. boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> Bradheron. '“Are you really gonna leave without asking me the question you’ve been dying to ask me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to add a little more to this concept. It's fun to work with!

Heron knew he was worried about her. It was nice, and when she’d had enough painkillers she would even admit it was a little cute. No one had cared about her for more than one night in a _very_ long time and even a lot of those one nights were debatable. Bradford was certainly the first person to show such concern for her when she looked as terrible as she did.

He didn’t let her near any mirrors for several days after they returned to his apartment, not that she’d had the physical capacity to even pay attention. When she finally caught a look at herself she almost screamed - her hair would take _forever_ to grow back and the scars on her legs would never heal right. She’d have to start wearing stockings under her signature boots like some kind of old lady.

But she was very surprised at how comfortable she felt that Bradford had seen her like this. Most people never saw her without makeup - _this_ was a little more extreme than that. Perhaps over the past year they’d become closer friends than she realized.

Sitting up in his bed and staring down at her third cup of Ronguay Rosemarinus Tea for the day, Black Heron let out a short chuckle. Never in her entire life did she imagine being friends with such a... _nerd._ A dork. A dweeb. If they’d known each other in high school she had the distinct feeling she’d have shoved him into a locker.

And yet, here they were.

And thanks to drinking tea made from the plant he’d gotten with her instructions, she was healing fast and would be able to get back to her own place in no time. Or...well. She supposed she didn’t _have_ a place anymore. Heron tapped her fingers against the mug and considered that for a moment. She hadn’t taken the time to think about how she probably lost all of her possessions in that explosion. All her designer dresses...her _shoes._ The iconic white gogo boots she wore every day were destroyed and her backup pair was probably ruined as well. It was a painful realization.

She sighed loudly and squished herself against the pillows. Great. Nowhere to stay, no clothes besides her partially ruined dress, and now that she was getting better, Bradford was sure to kick her out soon. If she wasn’t such a bad actress she’d consider pretending to be bedridden so she'd have somewhere to stay.

The bedroom door opened just a crack and Bradford poked his head in, taking a quick look at her and then ducking back out and closing the door behind him.

Heron raised a curious eyebrow and continued sipping at her tea. That was odd.

An hour later while she was trying to get more sleep, he did that again, though he stared at her for a bit longer before leaving. He probably thought she didn’t notice.

Ever the light-sleeper, Heron woke up when she felt his eyes on her for the third time, and at that point she knew that enough was enough. She yawned overdramatically and sat up to stare at him.

“ _Bradford,_ ” she mumbled. “Are you really going to leave again without just _asking_ what you’ve clearly been _dying_ to ask me?”

He blushed the tiniest bit and mumbled some angry words as he finally made his way into the room and turned on the light. “I’ve not been _dying_ to ask you anything. It’s just…”

After a moment of continued grumbling, he finally pulled out a box from behind his back and tossed it next to her on the bed. “Here.”

She looked at the box and then back to him. And then back to the box. She put down her tea and reached over to pull off the lid, letting out an excited squeal at the sight.

“ _My boots!_ ” She grabbed one of them to check if they were the right size. Seeing that they were, she painfully hugged the white leather to her chest and couldn’t contain the bright smile on her face. “Bradford, you absolutely _wonderful_ man! You didn’t even settle for knock-offs!”

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I suppose you don’t remember the conversation we had the other night.”

“Not in the least,” Heron said as she continued rubbing her fingers against the leather. She missed how it felt. “I’m sure it killed you to spend this kind of money.”

“I had Dr. Matronic upgrade them so they’re inflammable now,” he said matter-of-factly. “So they should last you long enough to justify the cost.”

Heron’s smile grew even brighter. “Thank you,” she said genuinely.

He shrugged off the gesture and pulled a magazine out of nowhere, tossing it towards her as well. “Circle a couple of things in here you want me to get. Nothing over $50 and nothing you wouldn’t wear to a F.O.W.L. meeting.”

She smiled again and started flipping through the pages hungrily - she couldn’t _wait_ to get some new clothes on someone else’s dime. Normally she’d just steal them, but if he was _offering_ , she’d just rob a bank and pay him back later.


End file.
